


52 Pickup

by Fudgyokra



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Basically, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Conversations, F/M, Love/Hate, M/M, Multi, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Bruce pays a visit to Harley Quinn, with whom he finds he has many things in common. Mentioned BatJokes and Mad Love.





	52 Pickup

He was looking at Harley from the other side of the glass. The safe side, or so the asylum staff claimed. There wasn’t really a need for him to speak, so he did not.

Harley, for her part, did all the talking for him. “Hiya, Bats,” she said sweetly, crossing her legs at the knee and resting her hands daintily on her thighs. “I don’t suppose you’re here just to visit li’l ol’ me.”

Bruce remained silent and stark, as always.

“Oh, the eye? Yeah, it’s pretty bad. But you oughta see him!” The woman grinned, split lip be damned. A second later, however, the expression dimmed into something more serious. “I’m done with that freak, anyway. So if you wanna know where he went when he busted outta here, I’ll tell ya.”

Slowly, Bruce nodded. He looked her in the eye, but the moment their gazes locked, she looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “But if ya don’t mind my askin’…why did you come to me first?” When she looked back down, it wasn’t quite _at_ him, but Bruce still felt as though he were being scrutinized.

“Talk,” was all he offered her.

“So gentlemanly,” Harley returned evenly. She did not seem surprised by this. “He’s in that stupid sewer outside the graveyard. He’s probably on his way to petition Croc or some shit. Maybe he’ll beat the shit out of him, too.” She snorted and leaned back on her dingy mattress, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Sewer?” Bruce asked, not necessarily to confirm, but to dredge up whatever else Harley knew about the Joker’s whereabouts. She was a chatterbox, especially so now that she was angry. He could see the emotions burning in her eyes, and it reminded him exactly of why they got along so well outside of her criminal exploits; they had a shared sense of attachment to the Joker, and it wreaked havoc on them both.

“Sewer,” Harley repeated in a lazy drawl. Now that she was becoming disinterested, Bruce felt as though he’d gotten what he had come for and turned around to leave.

Before he got far, her voice called out to him. “Hey, Batman?” It sounded like a sincere beginning to a question he was afraid of answering. He’d seen it coming, because, despite what Joker would say, Harley was a smart person, and she was better at gauging emotions than either of them combined.

“Yes, Harley?” he asked, once he’d prepared himself for the inevitable.

She sucked noisily on her teeth for a moment, which drove Bruce crazy, not that he’d say so. He had a sneaking suspicion she knew it, anyway. She knew a lot more than she let on. “Harley,” he said, tone firm.

“The difference between you ‘n’ me…is that you hit him back. That’s why he loves you more than he ever could me.” Bruce curled his lip but didn’t rebuke the claim. Harley continued almost boredly, checking her nails as she spoke. “It’s kinda fucked up when you think about it, but I know you love him, too.” Again, Bruce did not reply. “I know he confuses violence with love, but you give it to him either way, I guess.”

Here, Bruce turned away from the woman again. He heard her shuffling around in her cell, but he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. Something about hearing the truth out loud made him more uneasy than having it kept under lock and key, as it had been previously.

Harley whistled a brief tune to herself, then, as if she had just remembered, added, “Oh, and when you guys get married and run off to have little bat-clown babies, I wanna be the godmother.”

He could feel, without even looking at her, that she was not smiling. “Noted,” he muttered, taking purposeful strides away from her. Before he left, he paused with a palm on the ward door. “Harley,” he said without looking back, “thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome, Mistah Batman, sir.” Harley laughed at her false salute, high and tight. It was a sound that rang in Bruce’s ears, drowning out everything else, even as he was speeding down the road in his car, far, far away from Arkham.

Over the years, Bruce had learned something about laughter: In Gotham City, it never meant something was funny. Between Harley and Joker, and even himself, Bruce knew how deep that sickness went—deep enough that it meant love and hatred all in one mouthful of noise.

You just don’t forget the sound of grief like that.


End file.
